


Be It Ill or Well

by Crowgirl



Series: On the Strength of the Evidence [29]
Category: Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Consensual Infidelity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Injury Recovery, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Canon Compliant, Prompt Fic, Unconventional Families
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-27
Updated: 2017-04-27
Packaged: 2018-10-24 10:59:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10740336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: 'I think I can turn off a light on my own.'





	Be It Ill or Well

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kivrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin/gifts).



As Sidney stands up from handing Davie through the door of the cab to Cathy and presses at the now-familiar ache in his side from the healing stab wound, he glances over the roof of the cab towards the church and realises with a sigh that the light in the vestry is on. He can hear the clock chiming one and exhaustion sits on his shoulders like a heavy blanket. The festival in Cambridge had been wonderful -- well-worth the trouble of getting everyone there -- but now he wishes they hadn't stayed for quite the _last_ concert of the day.

'Sidney?' Cathy pokes her head back out of the door, peering up at him with Davie cradled in her other elbow. 'You all right?'

'What? Oh, yes, yes, of course, I just --' He points even though she can't possibly see what he's pointing at. 'I have to go over to the church, that's all.' 

'What? Why?' Geordie's voice is sharp from the other side of the cab back seat where he had installed himself as a buffer for the girls to lean on. Esme is already half-asleep against his shoulder.

'Someone left a light on. I'll just run over and--'

There’s a soft murmur, then the car door slams and Sidney blinks, suddenly looking at Geordie across the roof of the car.

Geordie jabs a finger at him. 'Not on your own you won't.'

'I -- won't?'

'Not a bloody chance.' Geordie comes around the back of the car, shuts the door on Cathy's side, then leans in through the window. Sidney can hear them talking, a few quiet sentences, then Cathy laughs, Geordie straightens up, and the cab drives away.

'I think I can turn off a light on my own,' Sidney says as they cross the street.

Geordie snorts and says nothing. The clock has long since stopped chiming and Sidney can hear the distant rush of water, crickets in the gardens of the houses they pass by. A lone frog _brrup_ s loudly from the hedge of Mrs Fallows' garden. There's no-one about but themselves, there's no moon, and the houses ahead of them down the street are dark so Sidney takes the opportunity to reach out for Geordie's hand, sliding their fingers together. 

Geordie's grip is surprisingly tight, as if he's anxious or afraid, and his thumb rubs over the base of Sidney's knuckles in a gesture that often means worry. 

'Are you all right?' Sidney keeps his voice quiet, not wanting anyone to come to a window to see what the noise is. They take the last turning towards the church and Geordie bumps up against him, his arm pressing solidly against Sidney's for a moment.

'Fine.'

The light in the vestry isn't visible from this angle and the starlight is pleasantly atmospheric but not bright enough for Sidney to make out Geordie's face. 'Didn't Cathy need your help with the kids?'

'Esme can help her and Davie's dead to the world; he'll be no trouble.' Sidney sees Geordie turn his head to look up at him. 'What, you want shut of me?'

He squeezes Geordie's hand, then drops it to fumble in his pocket for the church keys. 'Don't fish for compliments.'

Geordie snorts. 'I'd never get any if I didn't.'

Sidney laughs and unlocks the porch door. When he moves to push it open, Geordie puts a hand on his arm. 'Let me.'

'Er -- all right.' Sidney slips the keyring back in his pocket and steps aside. Geordie pauses for a moment with his hand on the door, then pushes it open. It goes with an echoing creak and Sidney makes a note to dig the oil can out of the shed tomorrow. Geordie pauses again. 'What are you waiting for?' 

Geordie's silent for a beat, then shakes his head and steps inside. 'Nothing.'

Sidney follows him, shutting and locking the door behind himself. It will be easier to slip across the back garden to the vicarage from the vestry anyway. 

He follows the sound of Geordie's footsteps -- and a soft curse as Geordie trips over the lintel of the propped-open door into the nave -- into the space just behind the last row of pews. The glow of the starlight is enough for him to see Geordie pause before stepping into the nave, clearly looking over the shadowy interior. 'There's no-one here, Geordie.'

'Aye, well, that's what you thought the last time, too.'

'What, on Sunday? With a full congregation? I must've been drunk.' Sidney follows him up the aisle of the church, letting his fingers find the pew backs as he walks along, and Geordie steps aside at the last row of pews, letting Sidney take the lead. Sidney catches his hand and draws him forward, pulling open the vestry door and bringing Geordie into the lamplight. 'Mrs M sorted out the WI and the flowers; I don't think any of them are lurking to knock me on the head with a trowel.'

Geordie chuckles but says nothing.

'Look.’ Sidney sweeps an arm out at the untidy but entirely empty room. He closes the nave door and leans against it; a slight tug turns Geordie towards him and brings them toe to toe, close enough that he can see the faint shadow of stubble on Geordie’s chin and smell the last cigarette he smoked in the train and Sidney wonders, given the age of the church, how many other times the building has seen something like this. The stone and wood stands about them quiet and cool and unmoved by what he or Geordie or anyone else might get up to. ‘You see? There's no-one here.' 

Geordie doesn't laugh this time; instead, he presses his hands over Sidney's abdomen, fingers curved out over his ribs, palm warm against the healing scar tissue of the stab wound. 

'Geordie--'

'I'm a worrying old woman or whatever you like but--' Geordie leans up and kisses Sidney with an abrupt ferocity that is unlike him; Sidney slips his hands around the back of Geordie's head and holds on, stroking the angles of Geordie’s jaw with his thumbs. He can feel Geordie's breath on his own damp lips when Geordie slips back and speaks again. '--getting that call and -- and finding you--' He stops abruptly and Sidney feels his hand press tighter against his ribs. 'I don't want to do it again, all right?'

Sidney nods slowly, letting his hands slip down to rest on Geordie’s shoulders. ‘All right.’

**Author's Note:**

> For [Kivrin's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/kivrin) prompt: "Or more stabbed!Sidney?" and with all thanks to the lady herself and [Elizajane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane) for beta'ing.
> 
> Title from Shakespeare's [Sonnet LVIII](http://www.bartleby.com/70/50058.html).
> 
> [This now has the proper prelude.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11202447/chapters/25019970)


End file.
